


Keeping it Clean

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Hey, man, please, I need to finish," Sam says.<br/>"Not on the desk," says Smith.</i>
</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/103958.html?thread=39416598#t39416598">an SPN kinkmeme prompt</a> that asked for toppy Dean Smith, spanking and comeplay. Roll up, roll up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping it Clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stolenvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolenvoices/gifts).



> Sooo originally I just posted this on the kinkmeme anonymously... then I put it on my [smutty Wincest sideblog](http://accidentalwincest.tumblr.com/post/133892764364/keeping-it-clean-smithwesson-1700-words-nc-17)... then Rose ([stolenvoices](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stolenvoices)) persuaded me to put it up on here. So, um, I guess my shame barriers have been gradually eroded. THANKS SPN FANDOM! Anyway, this is just super-smutty Swesson PWP.
> 
> Oh, and the dubcon is for non-negotiated barebacking. In case that is a bother for anybody.

Sam’s spread naked over a mahogany desk and the buttoned-up guy from Sales and Marketing is pounding hard into his ass. Sam’s already come once this evening and is drifting towards round two, cock brushing irregular against stomach and shiny wood, shocks of sensation shooting through his nervous system every time. He doesn't chase it. This guy seems to like taking control, which is fine by Sam; so here he is, ass propped high on his haunches and fingers gripped tight around the desk’s sharp edge. He's coasting, spiralling, breathing deep and enjoying the ride.

When he got here this evening, he wasn't sure if this was a legitimate IT problem or a booty call. He and Smith haven't had much contact since an unexpected, fumbling, hot as all fuck encounter in the third floor stationery cupboard. Till today, they'd not exchanged so much as an email since: nothing more than heated glances across the elevator morning and night. Sam had been seriously considering bribing one of his buddies in engineering to make sure the thing broke down.

Then Smith had called this afternoon, curt and cryptic, but enough to set an enjoyable sense of anticipation curling in Sam’s gut. Heart thumping, he'd opened the office door expectantly: and had been rewarded with the sight of Smith spread-legged in his executive chair, smiling at Sam even and pleasant with a fist around his leaking cock. At that point it had become pretty clear how the evening was going to go.

It hadn’t taken long for Smith to bend Sam backward over the desk, to get his feet propped high and his knees angled wide and open; hadn’t been long before Smith had his neatly-cropped head between Sam’s thighs, sucking purposeful at his cock. Sam, still in his polo shirt with his stupid viscose slacks pooled somewhere on the floor beneath him, had writhed under the steadying weight of Smith’s forearm, squirming uselessly upward towards the hot wet lick of his tongue.

“Behave yourself,” Smith had told him, coming up for air. Then he’d dived right back down onto Sam’s dick, cupped his fingers firm but gentle around Sam’s balls, and suckled Sam methodically through an intense orgasm without coughing, choking, wheezing, or spilling a drop. Pulling off, finally, leaving Sam limp and exhausted, the guy had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned.

“Don’t tell me,” Sam said. “High in protein.”

“Actually, that’s a myth,” Smith said. “I just hate the mess.”

Mess whatever; right now, Sam’s pretty sure that he’s about to come all over Smith’s desk. He’d still been floppy and pliant from that first orgasm when Smith flipped him over, started working him open with fingers and tongue. At first, it had been too much; too soon. But Smith’s been giving it to him steady for a good while now, hips snapping just right, and Sam’s cock is definitely back in the game. He just can’t quite get enough friction; and if he moves his hands off the desk, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna go face first into solid mahogany. So he pushes back against Smith’s thrusts, grips on and sweats it out, letting the feeling crescendo slow.

All too soon, though, Smith’s coming; his rhythm stuttering and his hands going tight around Sam’s hips as he hisses expletives through his teeth. Frustrated, desperate for it, Sam whines; but Smith pulls out, his cock tugging sore and delicious against Sam’s just-raw rim. Sam slumps over onto his back. He’s breathing ragged, his dick desperately hard; but when he reaches for it, Smith slaps his hand away.

“Hey, man, please, I need to finish,” Sam says.

“Not on the desk,” says Smith.

_ Fucking anal executives,  _ Sam thinks; and then is suddenly, horribly conscious of the slow drip of Smith’s semen out of his ass. Too late, he tries to clench; but there’s no helping it when he’s been fucked so thoroughly. Sam’s pretty certain that the guy is gonna go spare when he finds out. It’s enough to make him wilt a little, and  _ that  _ seems to be enough to alert Smith to the fact that something is up.

He looks at Sam, intent. “What is it?”

Sam can feel himself flush. He tries to think of some kind of excuse; tries to wriggle down on the desk, maybe grind the stuff into his back. That only seems to make things worse.

“Stand up,” Smith says: commanding, low.

Inexplicably humiliated, Sam stands. He can feel Smith’s come, more of it, sliding slowly down the inside of his thigh. On the desk, the leatherbound blotter is dirty, smeared.

“Oh dear,” Smith says. “I told you, I hate mess.”

Sam wants to say,  _ your fucking fault for going in bare. Which, I’m pretty sure we didn’t discuss.  _ But, somehow, he doesn’t; just chews on his lip and looks down guilty at the stain he’s left behind him. He’s not sure what’s gonna happen now. Maybe Smith will stand there watching him until he’s back in his clothes, let him leave and go downstairs and they’ll never speak to each other again. Sam’s kind of desperate for that not to happen.

Luckily (luckily?), instead, Smith tilts his head a little to the side, looks at Sam and says to him, “Bend over.”

“What, again?” Sam says, surprised into insolence. Smith doesn’t answer, so he leans obediently forward, palms flat in the centre of the desk.

“Lower,” Smith says, and Sam eases himself down until the hard ridge of the edge of the desk is digging into his abs. “Okay,” Smith says. “Now spread your ass for me so I can see exactly what a state you’re in.”

Sam’s blushing furiously now, can feel the fuschia bleeding slowly down over his shoulders and back; but he does as he’s been instructed, settles his chest onto the desk and reaches back with his hands to grip onto his ass cheeks and spread them wide, leaving his hole exposed to the air and to Smith’s cool gaze.

“Good,” Smith says. There’s a long moment of silence before he lands a hard smack right over Sam’s asshole.

Sam’s already sensitive, sore, well-used; and the sudden shock surprises him into a sharp cry of pain. It also has the unexpected effect of snapping his cock back to hardness. Huh. He doesn’t have time to think much about that before Smith slaps him again, a tight focused movement that radiates right through Sam’s body.

“Fuck,” Sam gasps.

“Oh no,” Smith says, “You can’t be trusted with that,” and he slaps Sam again, hard over his hole and then an open-palmed smack to the cheek.

Sam feels giddy, trembling, light-headed. He never thought he’d be into this but, well, yeah. “Again,” he says. “Hit me again.”

Smith takes a step back, surprised maybe, and then steps forward and delivers three stinging slaps to Sam’s ass.

“Oh God,” Sam says, hands trembling as he holds himself open. Smith hits him again, once, twice, a third time right on his hole; hits him a fourth time, a fifth, and Sam’s suddenly coming sticky and hot, slumped with his face against the wood of the desk with his jizz pulsing wet over his stomach and chest. As he cries out, Smith slips a finger into his ass, sliding easily through the accumulated mess of lube and come. The dragging pressure against Sam’s aching rim is astonishing, just right. He feels like his muscles might dissolve.

Still, Sam doesn’t have long to enjoy it. His cock has barely stopped pulsating before Smith’s pulling him backward and upright, onto his feet. Still weak from his orgasm, Sam stumbles; and Smith’s arm snaps out, rapid, gripping under his.

“You okay?” Smith’s voice is unexpectedly earnest.

“Yeah,” Sam says, still dizzy. “Yeah, I’m fine. Christ. That was…”

“Filthy, is what it was,” and Smith’s back to commando-mode, steely and disapproving. He slides his two fingers back into Sam’s ass; draws them out and leans forward to drag a wet trail over the desk. “You gonna clean that up?”

“Wha’?” Sam’s not focused enough to understand what’s being asked.

Smith clears his throat. “Lick it clean,” he says.

“Come on,” Sam objects. “The blotter… you could just…”

Smith leans forward, tears off the top sheet of paper. “Still a problem here,” he says, “and here,” indicating the smears and puddles of his come and Sam’s spread over the surface of the desk. “Come on.”

Sam’s not sure why he does this. He’s never been a big fan of authority. But something about the evening, the spanking, the businesslike way that Smith behaves; it’s all working for him incredibly well, and so, cheeks burning and loving it, he bends low and swipes his tongue flat over the first of the smears. It tastes gross, of course, congealing jizz; but the situation kinda compensates. Fuck it, Sam thinks; and goes for it, lapping showy across the desk, feeling the thin whorls of the wood under his tongue. He goes to town on the noises he’s making, too; losing himself in smutty moans of pleasure, in groans of delight. When he’s done, he looks up at Smith. The guy’s watching him, his eyes open and his lips slightly parted; his pupils are dilated, huge.

Sam stands up, darts out a tongue to moisten his lips; and leans forward, pressing a kiss onto Smith’s mouth. It’s the first they’ve exchanged all evening. Sam loves kissing; and he leans into it enthusiastically, cupping Smith’s jaw in his hand, shifting up close against him, working exploratory with his tongue. Smith, frozen for a moment, melts and responds; gropes his hand up over the shifting muscles of Sam’s back. When Sam finally pulls away, they’re both panting and flushed.

“OK,” Sam says. “OK. We done?”

Smith looks at him heated, then leans over ostentatiously to click his computer awake. He flashes a diary up on screen. “Done for now. Wednesday morning, 11am?”

Sam looks down at himself, sticky and shamed. He takes a moment really to consider the ache in his ass.

"Can’t wait,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Your reassuring enthusiasm always welcome ;-)


End file.
